


Close Call

by wolfinpink



Category: Z Nation (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Fluff, protective10k, worried10k
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-23
Updated: 2019-05-23
Packaged: 2020-03-10 03:06:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18930034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wolfinpink/pseuds/wolfinpink
Summary: Reader gets a close call clearing a gas station and 10K isn't happy about it. Just a lil fluff.





	Close Call

**Author's Note:**

> This is my OC and 10k, she's an Aussie who was on vacation in America when the virus hit. Also for this one they have already established a relationship. Goooooo

The truck grumbles to a stop outside a dishevelled gas station. The sun is setting faster these days and you press the studs together on your jacket as you climb out after Addy. The windows are boarded up and empty tin cans dot the ground.

10K drops from the truck bed behind you and you give him a tired smile. It’s been a long damn drive.

“We aren’t gonna get much farther on the gas we got, so we’re here for the night.” Warren unsheathes her machete and jerks her head towards the closed door.

Doc steps up to one of the windows and tries to peer in, “ain’t no body home by the sound of it. But it’s dark as pitch in there.”

“10k, you’re on perimeter watch. Addy, Doc, you go ‘round the back to see if there’s another way in. Vasquez, (Y/N), you’re with me.”

“Got it, boss.” Doc says and pulls a hammer from his belt. Addy swings the z-whacker as she heads behind the building.

“I’ll secure this area.” Murphy calls from the back seat. He’s already stretched out, boots kicked up on the windowless backdoor.

While you’re a shoe in at medium range and a damn good shot at long, close quarters aren’t exactly your strong point. Your university life pre-z didn’t exactly lend itself to a lot of body building. And being from Australia means you were never accustomed to guns.

There’s an elongated hunting knife on your hip but you reach for the bow on your back tonight, taking your place behind Warren and Vasquez. Something gently bumps into your thigh making you jump. But then 10K’s breath tickles your ear.

“Need these?” He asks quietly, levelling your quiver at you. You sigh and sling it over your back.

“Thought I might try and negotiate this time. Take a page outta the Murphy playbook.” You quip and 10K smirks. Butterflies seize control of your stomach. That adorable half-smile is gonna be the end of you, you’re sure.

You turn back to the door and line up a shot.

“Ready.” You say, arm pulled back and steady.

Warren opens the door and soft groans immediately emanate from inside. She nods once at Vasquez and they both silently move through the opening. You’re close behind but you stop before entering. Dying light filters in through tiny slits in the boards on the windows, and it floods in through the open door.

You stiffen as your eyes adjust. Ten. No, fifteen. Maybe twenty cold, twitching bodies turn to face their new guests. At once a guttural cry comes from the mass and three break the centre of the pack, surging forward way too fast. Warren dispatches one with her machete, a clean kill, while Vasquez lines up a shot and takes the next down. The third barrels into him and knocks him prone. By now the other Zs have caught up and they surround Warren, blocking her access to the door.

You let an arrow fly and one goes down. Two. Three. There’s too many and you can’t find a clean shot between Vasquez and the brawling Z. You huff and toss the bow down to the ground, snatching your knife from its sheath.

A flood of light cuts through the room as Addy and Doc bust through a back door, luring some of the pack away. A swift boot to the Z battling Vasquez sends it sprawling and you help him up. You’re not much use in these close quarters and you wave him over to help Warren. A slow walker stumbles towards you with out stretched arms, jaws snapping. You slice upwards with your blade through its jaw and into the brain, then yank it back out as the body drops. You keep your back to the open door in case a hasty retreat is required and begin slashing at another advancing Z.

Suddenly a dark growling mass launches itself into your stomach and knocks you back through the door into the setting sunlight. It’s heavy and feels like its pressing your lungs together, keeping you from dragging in another breath. The knife’s gone, lost in the tackle and you grasp at whatever has knocked you down. Fingers grip fur and a mangled dog head rears in front of you, gnashing its canine teeth centimetres from your face. Your quiver is digging into your back, holding your only remaining weapon. You try to call for help but can’t take in enough air. Rotting breath assaults your face, as the dog’s tongue slides against your nose. Your arms begin shaking violently, this isn’t a 30 pound bow, this is a thrashing 120 pound dog. You squeeze your eyes shut, hoping it’ll rip out your neck fast and someone will put you down.

A deafening crack whips past your face and the dog becomes dead weight on your chest. You hear feet hit the ground and 10K comes into view above you.

“(Y/N).” He says as he drops to his knees and shoves the dog off your chest. You take in a ragged breath and start to cough but 10K still pulls you into his arms.

“Are you alright?” He demands, holding you back at arms length.

“Is she okay?” Warren emerges from the darkness.

“What happened?” Doc is close behind.

“I’m fine. I’m fine.” You cough out, trying to stifle your choking.

10Ks blue eyes bore into you, his brow furrowed. His boyish features have darkened considerably as his jaw sets.

“Don’t you dare do that again. You stay back, and use your bow.” He scolds. All of a sudden you’re back in school, disappointed teachers towering over you, telling you off for dangerous use of playground equipment.

“I had to!” You’re a little more shrill than you intend, “Vasquez was down.”

He comes up behind Warren checking his ammo but doesn’t come to your defence.

“Alright, if everyone’s good, lets clear this mess and pack it in for the night.” Warren says, and gives you a pointed look.

“You help too Murphy.” She calls and he groans from the backseat. The group file inside and begin dragging bodies into a pile out the back. You rise to help, but 10K pulls you back to the bed of the truck.

“Hey, I’m fine. And I’m not as fragile as you think I am.” You prepare your stance for a scolding but instead 10K pushes you against the wheel and immediately brings his lips to yours. You gasp at the sudden affection. Usually he’s taciturn and stoic, not one for public displays but now he crushes his mouth to yours urgently, his hands cupping each side of your face, keeping you in place.

After a few seconds he breaks away and you take a deep breath.

“Wha-”

“Don’t do that again.” He murmurs softly, “please.”

The hurt in his eyes is enough to take your breath away all over again. He leans his forehead against yours for a moment and you close your eyes before wrapping your arms around his waist.

“I’ll be more careful.” You promise quietly. And he lifts his head to gently kiss your hair. The embrace lasts a few more moments before you untangle yourself and he moves back. His face is more relaxed now, but still concerned.

“Thank you.” He says softly, his eyes never leaving yours. Then he reaches behind you to grab his rifle before you both head into the gas station.


End file.
